La Belle Dame Sans Merci Ballad

There are two versions of this very famous ballad. The first version is from the original manuscript and the second version is its first published form. The first is generally considered the best; it was altered upon publication. We do not know who did the alteration.

The original version is found in a letter to Keats’s brother, George, and dated Weds 21 April 1819. Keats typically wrote a running commentary to George and his wife Georgiana in America, then loosely grouped the pages together as one long letter. The letter which contains La Belle spans almost three months, from 14 February to 3 May 1819. It also contains other famous poems, including ‘Why did I laugh tonight?’ which ends, prophetically enough, ‘Verse, fame and Beauty are intense indeed / But Death intenser – Death is Life’s high mead.’ Also included are ‘To Sleep’ and ‘On Fame.’ The letter ends with the beautiful Ode to Psyche, of which Keats wrote: ‘The following Poem – the last I have written is the first and the only one with which I have taken even moderate pains – I have for the most part dash’d of[f] my lines in a hurry – ‘

La Belle Dame Sans Merci (The Beautiful Lady Without Mercy/Pity) was dashed off, then, and largely dismissed by Keats himself. It was first published in the Indicator on 10 May 1820 and has since become one of his most celebrated poems.

Note: In 1893, the pre-Raphaelite painter John William Waterhouse was inspired by La Belle Dame Sans Merci to create one of his most famous works

Original version of La Belle Dame Sans Merci, 1819

Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.

Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel’s granary is full,
And the harvest’s done.

I see a lily on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever-dew,
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful – a faery’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery’s song.

She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna-dew,
And sure in language strange she said –
‘I love thee true’.

She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept and sighed full sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.

And there she lulled me asleep
And there I dreamed – Ah! woe betide! –
The latest dream I ever dreamt
On the cold hill side.